


Survival

by AthenaFangGranger26



Series: The Adventures of 'Lizabeth Page [13]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, ZOMBIES!!!!!!, because i couldnt help it, im sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-03
Updated: 2013-10-03
Packaged: 2017-12-28 08:35:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/989954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AthenaFangGranger26/pseuds/AthenaFangGranger26
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>London is under attack. From the undead. And Liz is caught in the thick of it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Survival

I sent three bullets into the creature's cranium, one after the other. A silent snarl was locked on my lips. Firing off those bullets was risky enough, I didn't need to add a human sound to the mix.  
When I was positive the corpse was down for the foreseeable future, I holstered my handgun and adjusted my backpack.  
"Stay down, bastard." I muttered.  
I turned on my heel and started running toward home. I desperately needed to get home. I'm never going on a solo expedition again.

Upon returning to base, I quietly knocked twice and pushed my key in the lock. Luckily, we had discovered that the undead apparently have no skills when it comes to stair climbing.   
Making 221B the perfect place to hideout.  
"Uncle Sherlock. John. 'M home." I called softly, traipsing lightly up the stairs to the flat.  
I found my companions, and adopted parents, set up and relaxing in the flat. John Watson was sitting in his armchair, eyes fixed straight ahead. It was an expression that often frequented the survivors' faces. It's what happens when you've watched your friends and loved ones become soulless cannibalistic monsters in the span of a few days.  
I think both men were still recovering from the bullet I'd put in the head of the monster that had taken over our sweet landlady downstairs.  
Sherlock was up and pacing the room, fully dressed for once. We always were fully dressed, usually in army fatigues and thick combat boots. I could see the slightly distressed look of thought on Sherlock's face.  
"Well?" The detective spun to a halt, staring at me.  
"Uncle Mycroft and Lestrade are a-okay, and holed up in a high room fully stocked with all the necessities. Lestrade said he can handle any expeditions needed." I reported, dropping my pack on the sofa and then joining it.  
"Anything else?" John asked, snapping out of his trance.  
"I, um, ran into Anderson..." I trailed off quietly.  
"Oh? Did you, um-" John's eyes softened.  
"Yeah, put three bullets in his head. I froze up though. He was almost on me when I got the shots off."  
"Bugging us even beyond the grave." John gave a hollow laugh that provoked a slight chuckle from me.  
"You're not infected?" Sherlock demanded, falling onto the couch beside me.  
"No, you can check if you like."  
Sherlock immediately began checking my neck, wrists, ankles, arms, shoulders, anywhere exposed for bite marks or wounds. Infection was a serious issue, and none of us wanted to deal with it. Sometimes it can be reversed if caught quick enough, but most times, the person bitten is gone within a week.  
Like Sean...  
He lasted one week after London became infected. He stayed with us, he went on expeditions with me. He actually strived to stay his happy-go-lucky self. He succeeded too, until I failed to watch his back when he was out with John and I.  
The damned beast got him in the arm. His strangled scream still haunts me when I shut my eyes. I still remember laying him down on Sherlock's bed, hoping to patch up the bite and flush any of the poisonous undead goo out of the wound. I had fluttered about his side for all seven days before his death. I refused to go on expeditions, I refused to leave the room.   
And then he changed.   
I had fallen asleep, still hearing Sean's scream. It was the moaning and rolling around that woke me. I opened my eyes to be faced with a ashen grey skinned version of my boyfriend. But instead of his beautiful green eyes I knew, I was met with a bright red gaze and no pupils.   
I released a terrified, surprised shriek and the creature heard me. He started to back me into a corner. I willingly went, my fingers couldn't even touch the handgun on my thigh at the sight of that familiar face.  
"Sean..." That was the last words I said to the beast.  
Because said beast slumped over, a bullet hole found in the back of his head. I startled, and looked to the door. My eyes found John's, took in the smoking gun in his hand. He had shot Sean...no, he had killed the thing that overtook my Sean. Killed that horrible demon.  
"J-john." I had squeaked out before the first tears in a long time began to fall.

That night still haunts my dreams, those familiar yet unfamiliar red eyes still pulse behind my eyelids.  
Sherlock stood suddenly and went back to pacing.  
"I found Molly this morning." He said quietly.  
"Is she alright?" I asked, despite the fact I knew she wasn't.  
Sherlock shook his head. "The corpses in the morgue rose, she was turned months ago."  
"Did you-?"  
"Of course." Sherlock's response was clipped.  
"Sorry."  
So this was our life now. Living holed up in our flat, running around discovering who was dead and who wasn't. Putting bullets in the heads of those who weren't, staring our former friends in the face as we murdered the monster that had replaced them.  
Hoping day by day that we'd make it out of this fiasco alive. Knowing the statistics and odds, knowing that hope was useless and knowing survival would be nothing short of a miracle.


End file.
